


Don't Let Me Fall Again

by Lapin



Series: Scars [3]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Children, Developing Relationship, F/F, Family, Friendship/Love, Growing Up, Life Partners, M/M, Meet the Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychic Violence, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Violence, Trauma, Trust, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be with someone is to accept them for all that makes them who they are. But there is a difference between knowing what a man is capable of, and seeing it. When Janos' past becomes a part of his present, he is confronted with a side of Azazel he wishes he'd never seen. The Brotherhood of Mutants is built from the ground up by the remains of the Hellfire Club and Lehnsherr's drive, as people come together in a world where they must stand as one, or face extinction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Wow, could there be any more tags in this? And more will be added as the story develops. This is the final piece of the _Scars_ series, and it is a long fic. Lots of plot and fun times.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.
> 
> Warnings: Everything tagged applies. I'm quite serious about all of them, and readers should be as well. This fic might contain triggers for some people, and if you think you might have a problem, now is the time to click the back button.

Janos rarely dreamed, or if he did, he did not remember them. He has never given the idea of dreams any power, not being a superstitious type. Azazel was, he knew. He believed, to an extent, in luck and stories. Janos did not though. Dreams were unimportant, silly things.

That night though, he dreamed. And it was of nothing silly, or unimportant.

 _His father adjusts his grip on the bow, and shows him how to slide it across the strings so that the sound is better, more like his own playing. His father is a master musician, he knows. He plays for many people. Janos plays too, his fingers quick where his brothers' are slow, clever where they are clumsy._

 _Here in the music room, he is his father's favorite, his focus. He's the youngest, and the least talented. Only here is where his father sees his worth._

 _“Now, play the Bach again,” His father says, releasing his hands._

 _“Which one, Papa?”_

 _“Which one can you play perfectly?” His father asks in a stern tone. His father takes the music seriously, and he expects Janos too as well. Janos tries his best, despite how small he is compared to the instrument._

 _“The first one.” He says decisively, and begins._

 _For the first time in his life, something is coming easily to him, and the music flows like water from the cello at his urging. He moves his fingers without thinking about it, as he finds a place where there is only him and the music._

 _Something else surges up in him though, in his fingers, and the strings snap._

He woke with a start, feeling cold and tense. His father's voice had followed him out into the waking world, his awe at his youngest finally manifesting, showing his ability at last.

A hand touched his waist, sleep warm and comforting.

“What is wrong?” Azazel's English was rougher when he was half-asleep.

“Nothing.” Janos replied, but Azazel's arm came around him, pulling him back against Azazel's chest. Janos turned in his embrace, so that they faced one another. Azazel's eyes were alert in the darkness, and worried. “What?”

“This is the fourth time in a week you've had bad dreams.” He said. “You shake in your sleep, and I cannot wake you.” Janos frowned, confused. He had not slept well in the past two or three weeks, but he had not known he was waking Azazel up.

“I'm sorry,” He apologized. “Maybe you should go sleep in your room.” It was the last thing he wanted, but Azazel needed to sleep, and to make him tired because of his childish need to keep him close was selfish. Not only that, Janos hated being so needy when it came to Azazel. It was him who insisted Azazel share his bed.

Azazel's hand left his waist, and he sat up on his elbow. Janos closed his eyes and waited for the sound of his disappearance, but it didn't come.

“Do you want me to leave?” Azazel was frowning, and Janos realized his blunder. He shook his head and tugged on Azazel's arm, encouraging him to lie back down beside him.

“No, I want you here.” Azazel put his hand back where it belonged, on Janos' waist, and Janos curled into him, feeling like an idiotic child even as he did it. The comfort it gave him though, to have Azazel wrapped around him, was perfect. He had spent so many years starved for closeness, for affection, and now he had Azazel's. Azazel, who his heart had set itself on. He'd had no idea he could even be so happy.

Azazel's arm came around him tightly, holding him close, and he was grateful for it.

“What are you dreaming of Janos?” His accent always roughened Janos' name, and Janos was embarrassed at how much he liked it. When they were more settled with each other, he knew that he would be used to these things, but for now, it made his heart race.

“Nothing.” He attempted, but Azazel knew him better than that. He tilted his head a little, raising his eyebrows, and Janos scowled. “My father. I have not thought about him in years, and now I dream of him.”

“Was your father human?”

“No,” He answered, rolling back onto his back. Azazel's arm stayed on his waist, and Janos rested his hand on Azazel's arm idly while he watched the shadows on the ceiling. “My parents were mutants.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes. My mother, she could um, make things move? Without touching them. Nothing bigger than my cello. Once, when she was very angry with my father, she made every book in his library fly off the shelves.” He laughed a little at the memory, and heard Azazel's own huff of laughter. “When I was ten though, she died. Childbirth. I was the last one who lived. My father, he never really seemed the same. I think he must have loved her very much.”

“What could your father do?”

“My father, I have never met anyone with something like his. It was something to do with language. He could learn any language, just by reading it. So he worked for an American company. They would send him books, and he would rewrite them in all these languages. He loved music best though. He died when I was twelve.”

“He taught you to play then.” Janos nodded. “And your brothers?” His heart skipped a beat as the cold feeling stole over him again. Just thinking of them could send him into a panic these days, the memories he had locked down suddenly close to the surface and haunting him. “Were they mutants?”

“I don't want to talk about them.” He turned over, putting his back to Azazel, but Azazel turned him back with a hand on his shoulder. “Azazel,”

“It bothers you.”

“It didn't bother me until you made me think about it.” He shot, feeling it to be unfair even as he said it. Azazel was too used to his mercurial moods and biting words though, and he only got Azazel's fingers pushing through his hair as a response. “Drop it, Azazel. I don't want to talk about them.” Azazel considered him for a long moment, his fingers tangling in Janos' hair.

“Have I ever told you about my mother?” Surprised, Janos shook his head. Never once, in all the years he had known Azazel, had Azazel mentioned either of his parents. “Her name was Nadezhda. She was very beautiful. But maybe I am biased, yes?” Janos smiled at him, and when Azazel leaned over to kiss him, his smile grew.

“Was she a mutant?”

“She was. She had wings. We were part of a circus, and she was always the beautiful angel in the show. When I was born, it was a great joke among the circus. You can guess why.” He smirked, without an ounce of self-pity. For all that Azazel had suffered, he never seemed bitter for it. “It was only after she died that the military came looking for recruits. You see, he was aware of mutants, Stalin. He was a man obsessed. He thought he could _make_ us. But when that failed, he had every mutant in the country tracked down and put in his forces. I was only a boy. But my ability, well.”

“You were valuable.” Janos said, watching Azazel as he listened, how his eyes went far away as he told the story. It was like the first time again, when Azazel had told him every scar, even the one he clearly hated the most. Janos could still vividly remember the way Von Roehm had howled in pain when Azazel had slammed him straight into the wall with his tail, hard enough Von Roehm had dented it. Janos wondered if he could ever tell Azazel how much this meant to him, that Azazel confided in him, trusted him.

“I was. Капитан, she was a shape-changer, like Von Roehm. She did not turn into a wolf, like him though. She turned into a dog, a big one. She was a great tracker. врач was a healer, like I told you. They became my family, over the years.”

“What happened to them?” Azazel's face clouded over, and Janos worried he had hit on something painful when Azazel did not immediately reply. They were gone, he realized. That had to be it. And now Janos had brought it up, brought him pain. He shrunk away from Azazel, angry with himself and his stupid mouth. “You don't have to tell me.” He offered, looking off to the side.

“врач was killed when I was in my twenties. Капитан was executed less than a year later. Things were getting very bad, you see. Everyone was at risk. They made her turn into her other self. And then they hunted her down. I did not find out until after.” Azazel pulled his hand out of Janos' hair, and stroked his face instead, tracing Janos' cheekbone with his fingers. “It was a long time ago, my darling. Do not trouble yourself over it." Janos turned his face into Azazel's fingers, kissing the tips in apology still. Azazel smiled in the darkness, relieving Janos' worry. "You know, Emma told me something today.”

The subject change threw Janos off for a moment, but he recovered quickly, and tried to think of what Emma could possibly be sharing with Azazel. They did not get along at all, really, often arguing over petty things.

“What?”

“Lehnsherr might ask you to go on a recruiting mission in a few days. He got some information on some mutants, or something. Emma was unclear over what it was exactly. But it would be just you and him, apparently.” Janos wrinkled his nose, not liking the sound of that.

“I am always with you.” It wasn't that he didn't like Lehnsherr, only that he was uncomfortable with the man. He was intense, and though he was less frightening than Shaw, there was something about him that made Janos uneasy. And being separated from Azazel was, well, perhaps not an unbearable thought, but he didn't like it. They were always partnered. It was how this worked.

“That is why I am telling you now. I would rather I go with the two of you. But Emma says Lehnsherr might want me in Ireland.” Azazel rolled his eyes. “I can guess who he wants me to go visit.” Janos scowled at even the mention of the country.

“What does he think he will get out of him?” Janos asked. Azazel shrugged, shaking his head with a frown.

“It will do no good to explain. Lehnsherr will have to see what he is like for himself.” It could be no one but Black Tom, and just the thought of him made Janos' fingers itch. The man was reckless, and incredibly stupid. There was a reason Shaw had not wanted him in the Hellfire Club. “In any case, maybe I can convince him to let that one wait, and go with you two. I would rather know where you are.”

“I can handle myself.” Janos assured him, not sure if he should be insulted.

“It has nothing to do with that. I would never doubt your ability to fight, and win. Remember, I have seen you at full power, my love.” Azazel said, in a placating tone, though it took on more of a purr at the end. Azazel had already told Janos how much he loved seeing him let go, seeing him unleash his ability at its fullest. “It is only that you have been strange, ever since Lehnsherr took over. You don't sleep well, and sometimes, I feel as though you are somewhere else. Not with me.” The way he said it gave Janos pause. Azazel was trying to say something without saying it, and Janos wasn't sure what it was exactly.

“It has nothing to do with Lehnsherr.” He answered, truthfully, but if anything, that made Azazel withdraw more. “What is wrong? What are you trying to ask me?”

“Janos, you want this, yes?” He asked. “I assumed, after the first time, but maybe this is more than what you were after?”

Janos stared at him in disbelief before pulling him forward, so that some of his weight was on Janos, and that they were close enough to kiss. Azazel shifted, moving himself over Janos so that most of his weight was on his own arms as Janos pulled him close, opening his legs so that Azazel could settle between them. “Azazel,” He said, quietly, “Sometimes I want you so badly it hurts. You don't need to question your place with me, I promise.”

“Janos,” He breathed, in the space between a kiss, and Janos lifted his head so that their mouths met again, biting Azazel's lip just a little, the way he liked. Azazel groaned at it, and Janos spread his legs further, feeling Azazel against him, how hard he was getting just from this, just from kissing Janos. The power he had over his body was heady, and he couldn't help himself, as he slung a leg around Azazel's waist, bringing them into close, arousing proximity. Azazel groaned, and Janos felt the vibration through his muscled shoulders, tense under Janos' arm from holding himself back.

“It's only been a few hours,” Janos tempted, bringing his other knee up.

“I was rough earlier. I don't want to hurt you.” Janos tightened his arm around Azazel's shoulders, and his other hand slipped down to wrap around Azazel's hard cock, feeling him, and the vague sheen of oil still there.

“You never hurt me,” He promised, releasing him. Azazel groaned and gave in, guiding himself back inside Janos. The pace was slower this time, gentler, and Janos was grateful for it. He _was_ sore from earlier, Azazel's enthusiasm after a hard training session with Lehnsherr having carried into bed, but not sore enough it was uncomfortable, as long as Azazel was careful this time.

When they were doing this, when Azazel was inside of him, it felt like every cold place inside of him was warmed, and he couldn't get enough of it. Just having Azazel touch him, for no reason other than because he wanted to, was enough to make his heart sing. It was as though he had been empty, and Azazel's affection was filling him up. There was never going to be enough of it, never enough to make him tire of Azazel.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” Azazel asked, kissing the spot below Janos' ear. “This bed, inside of you, this is the best place I have ever been,” His tail snaked between them, wrapping around Janos and matching the rhythm of Azazel's hips.

Janos didn't have much of an answer, absorbed in his own body and what Azazel gave it, how he was learning so quickly what felt best for him, how to make him moan Azazel's name. Azazel's tail was quickly becoming his favorite part of this, the smooth texture warm, and gentle enough not to chafe, but tight enough to get him off. He hoped Azazel was his last, because he couldn't imagine sex without it now, couldn't imagine sex with anyone but Azazel.

“If I could stay like this,” He whispered, in Janos' ear, so that only he could hear it, as though there were spies in their room. “If I could just stay with you forever, I would.” His tail tightened in exactly the right way, and Janos came with a quiet groan between them. Azazel kept going, his pace achingly slow, like he was trying to make it last just a bit longer. He didn't drag it out though, didn't push Janos' exhausted body into an uncomfortable place. Janos felt his back shudder, and the way his hips stilled, the wetness of Azazel's orgasm dripping down inside of him.

Azazel pulled out carefully, pressing kisses to Janos' temple as he did so. Janos tilted his head, encouraging Azazel to move to his mouth, kiss him properly. Azazel obliged, and Janos slipped his tongue in, tasting Azazel. He was tired again now, ready to go back to sleep, and hopefully stay asleep, but he just wanted it to last, this space they had between sunset and sunrise where it was just them, and no one else. In the morning, he would have to let go, and share Azazel with the rest of the world, but for now, he was only Janos'.

If he dreamed again that night, he didn't remember.

Morning dawned, the day overcast and smelling like water. The wind from the coming storm he could feel approaching as easily as his own heartbeat, but he could just barely sense the buildup of rain, his secondary mutation much weaker than his primary.

Azazel was already gone, awake before the dawn, as he always was. Janos had felt him kiss the top of his head before leaving, but had been too sleepy still to acknowledge it.

He forced himself out of the warmth of his bed, and into the shower, washing away the evidence of the night before almost reluctantly. After sex, there was always the vaguest hint of Azazel's scent hanging on him, the curious mix of cigarettes and smoke and his cologne. Janos liked it, in its own way, liked feeling so owned. But though he was sure almost everyone in the house was aware of what they were to each other, he didn't want to test their goodwill by throwing it in their faces. Lehnsherr, Angel, and Mystique were strangers, and he didn't know them well enough to gauge their feelings towards he and Azazel's unusual relationship, didn't know if he was facing mere indifference, or scorn. He wasn't eager to find out either.

He contemplated his hair as he dried it, using his mutation in possibly one of the most mundane ways ever, the strands locking into curls naturally. He normally brushed it straight, but Azazel liked the curls. It wouldn't hurt, he supposed, to just let them alone for the day. Wouldn't hurt to see Azazel's pleased smile, feel him run his fingers through them discreetly when he saw them in the afternoon. Emma's knowing smirk would be worth it, to see Azazel's smile somewhere beyond the bedroom.

He finished and dressed, in trousers and a cotton shirt, leaving his cleaned suits for another day. As far as he knew, today was only going to be spent planning, and getting the groceries.

The women were at the table when he got downstairs, Angel staring out the window over a cup of coffee while Mystique, in her blue form, stirred a spoon in a cup of tea blankly. Emma was reading the newspaper, a pen between her teeth, her breakfast untouched beside her. That explained Angel's distant stare, at least. The eggs Angel had cooked looked perfect on the plate, over easy and burnt around the edges, just how Emma liked them. So why, Janos wondered, was she pretending they weren't even there?

“Did you make up the list?” He asked Angel, breaking the silence as he grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before putting in a few spoonfuls of sugar. He liked his coffee sweet, to Azazel and Emma's disgust.

“Yeah. Check it before we go.” She pushed across the pad of paper to the empty seat beside Emma, and he sat there obligingly, giving it a precursory glance.

“Why do we buy groceries?” Mystique asked. “Can't Azazel just pop in at night and get them?”

“Azazel is not an errand boy.” Emma told her, the pen making her words a little mumbled. She removed it to circle something, placing the paper flat on the table. “And it's an unnecessary risk. These stores are starting to put in alarms now, and other things. What do you think will happen if a bunch of humans spot Azazel?”

“Wouldn't he just kill them?” She said it in a strange tone, still stirring her tea, though there was nothing in it as far as Janos could tell.

“Because the clerk at the grocery store deserves to be viciously murdered by our favorite Russian?” Emma's tone was condescending, and Janos got the feeling he was missing something. “Could you be any more stupid?” The sharp little glare she turned on Angel was accusing, and as gone as quickly as it came, leaving Janos even more confused.

“God, get over yourself.” Mystique said with a huff, scooting her chair back loudly and leaving, her tea still sitting on the table. Janos frowned at it, hoping she didn't expect him to clean it up. He was no one's servant.

“ _Children_.” Emma hissed, and Angel shifted uncomfortably. “I don't know what _anyone_ sees in her, do you?” She directed the question at Janos, and he raised an eyebrow, silently asking her what exactly was going on. Whatever petty little game she was playing, he wasn't participating until he knew exactly what she was on about.

 _-Nothing-_ She projected, along with an undercurrent of, _-Shut up, now-_. Janos rolled his eyes and drank his coffee, wishing he hadn't left his cigarettes upstairs. Emma's games inevitably made him want to smoke.

“Anyway," She said, out loud. "Lehnsherr wants to see you sometime this morning. As I'm sure you've already been told,” She raised her perfect eyebrows smugly, “He has a mission he wants to consult you on. Something about some traders down in Mexico.”

It was like ice had been dumped in his veins, and Emma clearly felt it, furrowing her brow in confusion at his sudden mood shift. He projected a feeling of calm quickly, trying to reassure her it was nothing, but he couldn't fool her for a minute. Something was wrong, and she knew it, but if he was lucky, she wouldn't ask later. Emma was loyal to him before anyone else in this house, and she would never put him on the spot in front of a stranger like Lehnsherr, or Angel, but her own curiosity and concern would bring her around sooner or later.

“Sounds nice.” Angel said quietly, finally taking a drink of her coffee. “I'd like to be warm. It's cold here.” Emma shot her another angry look, her focus leaving Janos, and Angel recoiled, visibly turning in on herself.

“I have things to do,” She informed them both icily, getting to her feet. “I will see you later.” She said this to Janos pointedly, and he wondered if it was about him, or about hurting Angel. With Emma, probably a mix of both. She always did like the expression, "two birds, one stone".

“You should eat,” Angel had a pleading note to her voice, but Emma only waved her off, her boots clicking on the floor as she stalked off. Now thoroughly and completely confused over the two of them, he turned to Angel, but she just shook her head.

“Don't worry about it.” She told him, and he shrugged it off, figuring they would work it out amongst themselves. He was not in any mood for whatever drama had stirred up among them. Women had never been his strong point to begin with, and their petty mind games gave him a headache. Men were direct about their needs and wants.

“This looks like everything we need,” He said, and pushed the list back over to her, as he stood to make his exit. “I had better go see Lehnsherr now.”

“Okay.” She replied in a dull tone, and went back to staring out the window.

The women fighting couldn't be good, however, in Janos' opinion, and he wondered what exactly it was about, and if perhaps he should at least attempt to speak to Emma about what was going on. Emma appeared spiteful to Mystique and angry at Angel, while Angel was clearly trying to make nice with Emma. But as for why, he honestly had no idea. They'd only known one another for two weeks, and he'd been sure they were getting along fine, at first, or rather, as well as Emma got along with anyone. Emma had not seemed terribly interested in Mystique, to be honest, closer to Angel in age and temperament, but now there was a definite animosity towards the shape-shifter. Maybe it was because Mystique had not bonded to Emma psychically the way Angel had, when Shaw had first brought Angel aboard the submarine. Emma had reached out to their new recruit from her CIA cell, getting to know her on a more intimate level than if they had met face-to-face. And Mystique was experienced at blocking telepaths. Could that be it? Emma was feeling prickly over a perceived rejection? But would Mystique even know she was rejecting the tendrils of Emma's mind?

Women, he huffed. They were so strange. And he had the added bonus of them being mutant women. This was so much easier when it was just Emma.

He reached the room Lehnsherr was using as a planning room, a large one with cathedral ceilings that Janos supposed might have been a drawing room of some kind, and knocked politely before entering. Lehnsherr was reading something in a manila folder, seemingly absorbed by it.

“You wanted something?”

“Your surname is Quested, isn't it?” He asked, without preamble. Janos nodded, confused. “Do you know a,” He squinted at the folder, “A Joseph, a Joash, a Jesimiel, and a -”

“Josiah?” Janos finished dully, shocked.

Lehnsherr looked up at him at last, seemingly pleased. “You do know them. Relations?”

“My brothers.”

“Do you have a good relationship with them?” Janos shook his head, trying to get his nerves under control.

“Lehnsherr, trust me, you do not want them in this Brotherhood of yours.”

“Of _ours_ ,” Lehnsherr corrected. “And why not?”

“Because they're insane. All of them. They will follow no orders, no leaders, except Joseph. And Joseph will kill you before he follows you.” Or he would have one of the others do it. That would be more his oldest brother's style.

“Not even for the advancement of our kind?” Lehnsherr seemed to be almost laughing at the idea, and it angered Janos. He walked over to Lehnsherr as carefully as possible, feeling the itch in his fingers as he did, the need for a cigarette now screaming through his mind as he tried to keep himself under control.

“Lehnsherr, listen to me. Even Shaw did not want my brothers, and if you knew Joash's ability...no. You do not want them anywhere near here.” Anywhere near _me_ , he wanted to say, but didn't. He would never show his hand like that, not to a stranger.

Lehnsherr opened the folder and pushed it across to Janos.

“Thank you for your honesty.”

The contents of the folder were enough to make Janos want to recoil, but he stayed outwardly calm.

“You were testing me.” He hissed. Lehnsherr shrugged, unapologetic. “Why? What do you want from them?”

“Sit down Janos,” Lehnsherr directed, gesturing at the chair catty-corner to him. “Your brothers have gotten involved in an interesting business in the past few years, it seems. _Very_ interesting.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janos reveals more of his past to Azazel, as Lehnsherr pushes his boundaries with his new team. Loyalty does not come cheap.

Janos studied the pictures, trying to keep himself detached.

She was filthy, her hair hanging in thick, unkempt locks around her grey face. Her very grey face. Her skin was the color of the sky outside, and her hair, though dirty, was undeniably slate blue. Her eye color was indeterminable from the quality of the picture, but they looked dark.

She couldn't have been older than ten.

The bruises on her face were fresh on top of old, an awful mix of yellow and purple.

He slid her picture below and took a look at the other one, but as with everything involving his brothers, it only got worse.

This one was only eight, if she was a day.

Her skin was covered in something like snake scales, a pretty copper color, while her eyes were bigger than a human's, greenish-yellow, slitted. Her nose was almost flat, her lips thin on a wide mouth. She had no hair.

She was even more bruised, her left eye swollen, thin lips cut and bleeding. She'd been crying though, whereas the other one's eyes had been as dry as bone.

Both girls were mutants, young mutants. Young, beaten, and maybe even broken little girls.

God, he'd never considered they would sink so low.

There were descriptions, in Joash's careful script. They didn't know what the little blue-haired girl's ability was, he was sorry to say. They had not yet managed to work it out. She might only be physically mutated. The other one was showing amazing evasive skill, and her bite was poisonous. Very poisonous. Death happened in about five minutes.

They'd made her _kill_.

His hands were shaking, he realized, and he pressed his palms against the table, controlling his breathing carefully. He opened his cigarette case and took one out, lighting it and taking a deep inhale.

What were they thinking? Was the money really that good?

His mother's face swam into his vision as he pinched the bridge of his nose, her sense of poise and self-possession stealing over him. She had been a handsome woman, his mother, and she'd told him often he was the image of her brother. He was the only one who had taken after her side of the family, his brothers all wearing the sharper features of their father. And she had been different, he remembered. She would never have let them do something like this.

He took a look at the files again, trying to think of this as just another mission. Lehnsherr had obtained arrest records from the police departments, lists of properties owned, a map with several locations circled and some German written on the side. And pictures.

Joshua's was the best of the lot, clearly taken by a spy with skill. His profile was sharp in it, good-looking. He was wearing his hair short and clean-cut, an expensive watch glinting in the light on his visible hand. He had been a man when Janos had escaped, and his features had not changed in the decade they'd been apart.

Joash's was a photo from a police station, an American one, he thought. He was defiant in it, smirk curving up. He looked wild. Just the sight of him was enough to make Janos afraid, even if it had been ten years. He could still feel the oppressive weight of Joash's ability.

Jesimiel's was a bad picture all together, not that Janos could blame them. That they'd even managed to get a picture was a feat. He was a blur of dark hair in it, an above profile shot that just barely showed his eyes and the top of his nose.

Then there was Josiah, hands clasped in front of him, looking to the side. He'd grown to be the tallest, the strongest. He looked no different than he had ten years ago, the last time he'd taken Janos by the back of his neck and held him down for Joseph.

He pushed all of the files away, across the table, and smoked quietly, gathering his thoughts. This was not a good mission for him, and he needed to tell Lehnsherr. There were too many risks with him, too big a chance they'd tear him to pieces again. They'd always been especially talented at that.

“Are you aware of how loud you're projecting?” Emma stood in the doorway, wearing a white dress with white stockings and white boots.

“I am now.” He replied smartly, taking a drag. She smirked at him, and walked over, turning one of the photos with the tips of her fingers. It was Joseph's, and she raised an eyebrow at it.

“He doesn't look much like you.”

“I take after my mother's side.” He told her with a shrug, as he tapped his cigarette in the ashtray. If he had been projecting, Emma likely already had an idea of this, but it made her feel better if he voiced it aloud, let her know she could have the information freely.

“How bad is this?” She asked quietly, her mouth in a serious line.

“Worse than you know.” She sighed and came over to him, running her manicured hand through his hair with a sad smile. “I don't want your pity.”

“Pity and empathy aren't the same thing, sugar. You know that.” She was very beautiful, he thought in an offhand way. They had always had that in common. It was what had bound them together in the beginning, two people who were only ever seen for their faces. “My sisters aren't much of a treat either.” Janos nodded, already privy to that, but Emma's sisters had only been cruel in the way of neglect.

“It's not quite the same thing.” Her eyes darted over the hand holding his cigarette, and the clear outlines of scarring that the weak light from outside only made more apparent. “Azazel keeps asking about them.” Emma knew, in her own way, that the scars Janos carried had unpleasant stories attached, but he had never told her the whole story. He had no intention of it.

She unexpectedly laughed a little, and walked towards the stove, taking down the kettle from the overhead so she could rinse it and fill it with water.

“You two certainly took long enough.”

“Emma,” He warned, pointing at her with his cigarette, but she just smirked and put the kettle on, heading for the cabinet where the mugs were kept and getting down two.

“Now that you two have finally uh, how do I put this, come to an understanding, things are a lot easier for me.” She found the teapot and put the tea leaves in the strainer while she waited for the water to boil. “Less tension. Less projecting.” She smirked again, and Janos made her hair move, just a little. “I swear Janos, if you blow my dress up again, I will-”

“I'm sorry, am I interrupting?” Lehnsherr had come into the kitchen unnoticed, smiling in that predatory way he always did.

“Of course not.” Emma said, with a polite smile. She was trying to get along with Lehnsherr, as far as Janos could tell, but there was something about him holding her back. He frightened her, and Janos was a little scared to ask why, to ask what she had seen in his mind that made him more alarming than Shaw. Emma had told him what was in Shaw's mind.

“Tea?” He nodded at the kettle, as it started to whistle behind Emma.

“Janos and I like tea.” She said, with a well-bred smile, and she turned the burner off, pouring the hot water into the teapot, over the tea leaves, then putting the lid back on.

“I see.” Lehnsherr advanced, and Janos just barely kept himself from withdrawing. “What brand do you smoke?” This was directed at Janos, and he offered the case in answer. Lehnsherr took one, and used Janos' lighter to light it. “These are French?” Janos nodded. “They're nice.”

Emma slid Janos' mug to him, having already stirred in the honey for him, and he took a sip, wishing Lehnsherr would take the hint and leave. He had to know he was making them both uncomfortable, standing over them like he was.

“What did you think of the files?” He asked, all too casually. Emma sent Janos a feeling of reassurance, but his irritation at Lehnsherr even asking this of him was too much for Emma to soothe. Lehnsherr may have taken over, and they may have chosen to stay, but that didn't mean he had any right to order Janos around with a smirk.

“I think your plan is a bad plan.” He said, eyeing the files. Emma raised her eyebrows at him in shock at his tactless honesty, but Janos couldn't muster up the same fear of Lehnsherr that she had.. “I think you need a better strategy. This plan of yours, to just walk in and pay? That plan is dependent on a best-case scenario..My brothers,” He shook his head, “My brothers are not like that. I can't...” He took a drag and tried to keep his hands from shaking in front of Lehnsherr. “They like hurting people.”

Lehnsherr pulled out the chair he was leaning on and sat down. Janos liked being on eye level with him, but he didn't want to have this conversation, not with Lehnsherr. Janos didn't trust him to not use it against him later.

“Can you tell me what their abilities are?” Janos hated the way he was talking to him, like they were friends.

Janos looked to Emma, and gave her images, ideas. He let her see his brothers using their abilities, so that he didn't have to tell Lehnsherr, didn't have to risk slipping somehow. Emma would know the right words, the terms.

“Joseph is a telekinetic. Not terribly powerful,” She gave him a considering look, making sure she was correct in her assessment. Janos had never heard the word she used, but could guess the meaning. “Jesimiel is a hydrokinetic. Stronger than Joseph. Josiah is strong, and durable. And Joash,” Her blue eyes, much darker than Azazel's, went wide in surprise as she tipped her head to the side inquiringly. Janos nodded at her in confirmation. “Joash can repress mutant abilities. Not completely, but to an extent.”

Lehnsherr rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, obviously deep in thought over the revelation. Joash's ability had inspired the same wonder in Shaw. Then he had met them. It had only been once, before Azazel ever joined them. Janos hadn't even known he'd done it until he returned. It was the first time he'd ever seen Shaw reject mutants before they'd even been seriously considered.

“Could Joash be recruited?”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Emma answered for him. Janos looked up at her, making eye contact, and knew she'd seen. “I don't think any of them are good for recruitment.”

Lehnsherr looked between them, eyebrows drawn down and eyes narrowed. “I don't appreciate being kept out of the loop.”

“Janos is a private person.” Emma said, trying to look appealing. He knew all of her roles, and this was her attempt to be flirtatious. He projected the idea of it being useless, that Lehnsherr was lost to his cause. She modified her expression slightly, made it more pleading and sweet.

“Frost, I'm not Shaw.” His voice was cold as he looked at her, something like disdain in his face. “Your games won't work on me.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying.” She said, and he gave her a dry smile in return. Janos hoped it would distract him enough, but Lehnsherr had the focus of a shark who smelled blood. He turned to Janos with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Don't have private conversations in my presence.”

“Why should I follow your orders?”

“Because I tell you to.”

“That's not enough.” The spoon Emma had left on the table lifted, and started to bend, sharpening as it twirled in the air. Janos watched it out of the corner of his eye, praying to God nothing was giving away how afraid he was now. “Are you threatening me?”

“Do I have to?”

“Perhaps not your smartest idea.” A deeply-accented voice said, as Azazel appeared behind Lehnsherr, tail pointed at his throat. Janos glanced at Emma, and though she gave nothing away, he knew she had to have called him.

“Azazel,” Lehnsherr said, in a very casual way. Janos could see the way his eyes darted to the tail though. “I wanted to speak with you today, actually.”

“Threaten him again, Lehnsherr,” Azazel almost growled. “And you will be asking me out of another mouth.” The point of the tail pressed into Lehnsherr's skin, and Lehnsherr inhaled sharply.

“Understood.” Azazel withdrew his tail, up and over his shoulder, but he didn't move from behind Lehnsherr. “Your loyalties to one another are commendable.”

“Your approval means much.” Azazel's voice practically dripped with sarcasm, and Lehnsherr obviously heard it. He smiled again though, as the spoon, now beyond repair, gently fell onto the table. “What are you discussing now?”

“Janos' brothers.”

The look Azazel gave Janos made him want to hide. There was anger there, and betrayal. He wanted to know why Lehnsherr was being told something that had been denied him, when Lehnsherr was a stranger, and Azazel was everything. He would have to explain, the sooner the better.

“Are you really?”

Emma was looking at Azazel sharply, obviously trying to project something to him, but Azazel had to be blocking her, to judge by her frustration. It was one of the things that irritated her about him, how often he shut her out.

 _-He's angry-_ , she told Janos, _-Really angry-_.

 _-I don't need you to tell me that.-_ He sent back, watching the man, trying to look sorry. Azazel was not softening though, and they'd been silent long enough for Lehnsherr to realize that he was again being left out of some kind of communication.

“Do you want to be left alone?” He asked, and thought it was obviously more sarcasm, Janos got up, shoving his chair back, and left the room.

“Janos!” Emma called after him, and he heard her making excuses, filling Lehnsherr in on what he needed to learn about his new “brotherhood”, and why pushing Janos was always a bad idea. She would smooth everything over, he knew, though that almost bothered him. He wanted Lehnsherr to know that he was crossing lines by invading Janos' past, by asking questions no one but Azazel had ever asked. That no one but Azazel was _allowed_ to ask.

He only made it to the foyer before Azazel caught him, his tail wrapping around Janos' forearm to hold him back.

“Why does he get to know?” Azazel demanded. “Damn it, Janos, do not try my temper!”

Janos pulled away, insulted. “And now you're threatening me? What exactly do you think I am? I'm not a woman Azazel, and I'm not weak! Don't ever think you have any right to tell me what to do!”

Azazel grabbed at him again, this time by the shoulders, his hands heavy there. “I would sooner slit my own throat than cause you pain Janos, you know that. Don't pretend you don't.” Janos was confused, but he refused to give any ground by showing it. He kept his face impassive, blank. “Don't pretend you do not know how much command you have over me.” He released Janos, backing away, a show of submission. “I would kill _him_ though.”

Janos could certainly believe that of him, and he was afraid at how much pleasure the thought gave him, that Azazel wanted him that much.

“Why would you tell him anything?” He asked, sounding less angry, more sad. Janos hated the idea of him being sad, but he hated the idea that Azazel might not trust him more.

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to? Lehnsherr has decided that my brothers would make ideal business partners.” His voice took on a mocking tone, as he fell back in the role he was best in. “He wants me to go down there and have a family reunion. And while I'm there, he wants me to buy two children that my brothers are selling. Because apparently, they felt they hadn't brought our name down far enough. Now they sell slaves. Now they take little girls and they,” He stopped, the jest too far, even for him. Especially for him. “You know, when I was younger, no matter how much I hated them, I believed they could still be saved. But now I don't think there's anything left to save.”

Azazel said nothing, and though he looked like he wanted to, he did not approach Janos or try to touch him. He was grateful for that, that Azazel still knew how to read him.

“Were they ever worth saving?” He finally said, tail curling back and forth over his shoulder.

“We were always taught that God could save anyone. This, though. This, I wonder.” Azazel didn't manage to hide his huff of laughter, and Janos glared at him. “Just because you think there is no God, Azazel, don't mock my faith.”

“Don't expect me to take you seriously when you start talking about that. You know me better than that.” Azazel said, with no small amount of derision.

“I'm not in the mood for this. I need to go outside.”

“It's freezing outside, and still raining.” Azazel warned after him, but Janos ignored him, striding out into the storm.

Outside, he felt like he could breathe again, and he inhaled the wet air in great lungfuls, angry at everything and everyone. Damn it, this was not him, he did not behave like this. He had to get himself under control before he drove everyone away.

Azazel would only take so much before he started to wonder where the man he knew had gone, where the confident Janos who always had a quick retort went. That was the man he liked, the man he wanted, not this mess of nerves. There was only so much sex could do before Azazel got tired of dealing with this and ended it.

The thought made his stomach hurt, and he walked faster, towards the edge of the land where the water was. It was grey and choppy, the rain breaking the surface into a thousand pieces.

He'd loved Azazel for so long, had ached over him so many nights, and by some stroke of luck, Azazel wanted to try with him. He had to stop this now, had to be something worth keeping, or he would never get to stay with him. Azazel would find someone else, someone better, and Janos would be left alone, without even his friend.

This was the worst time for this to be happening, for him to fall apart.

He walked into the water without another thought, the cold of it nothing to him right now, as it swirled about him, welcoming him. It knew him, loved him, the same way the wind did, Around him, the storm picked up, turning into something wild, and he tipped his head back, the ocean to his knees, fingertips just brushing it.

It had been like this before, he remembered. This was what he had done when he'd escaped them. He'd wandered into the water until he felt free of them and their stranglehold.

 _“Again!” His father ordered, and Joseph obeyed, using his ability to fling a swath of sand at Janos, stinging his skin as he covered his mouth and eyes. Nothing else happened though, and his father huffed, stalking over and hauling Janos to his feet by his hair. “You did it once boy, now do it again!”_

 _“I can't Papa! I don't know how!”_

 _“You have to feel it Janos! Rage will unlock it!” He stepped away and signaled to Joseph. Again, Janos was knocked down, this time so hard he slid along the dirt, and when he stood, his arm and his stomach were bloody, while his face felt raw. The whole of him burned from the pain, and his throat grew tight as he started to cry._

 _His entire face exploded in pain when Joash suddenly struck him hard across the other, unwounded side of his face._

 _“There's something there Father, I can feel it.” He said, regarding Janos with his hard, clinical eyes. “He's just not using it. He's too stupid, aren't you Janos?” Janos screamed in rage and kicked at his brother, but Joash just hit him again, making him see stars. “Get up, little Janos. Get up and fight.”_

 _“I can't!” He yelled, managing to get to his feet again. He was struck again though, in the stomach, this time by Josiah, and it was hard enough he fell backwards, Josiah not even trying to harness his ability._

 _“Get up, Janos. When you stay down, you shame this family. You shame me. Get up, now. Right now.” His father ordered._

 _Janos struggled to his feet, but again, Joash knocked him down._

 _“Maybe it knows you're not worth it.” He hissed, bending over Janos. “Maybe it knows you're just the runt of the litter, not worth a thing in this world. Everyone else knows it. Father knows it. The only one who didn't believe it was Mother. But Mother is dead, isn't she-!”_

 _“Shut up!” He screamed, throwing his hand up at his brother. Around him, the wind roared, in his ears and in his blood, as much a part of him as the hand that controlled it. Joash hit the garden wall with a thump as Janos got to his feet, his breathing ragged._

 _“Finally.” His father drawled. “Jesimiel, clean him up.”_

 _In the kitchen, Jesimiel cleaned his wounds and bandaged them, not unkindly, his face lacking any expression at all._

 _“They don't mean to be cruel.” He said, after a moment. “It's just how they are.” Jesimiel's sleeves were rolled up, so Janos could see the great big scar, like a snake under his skin, that went from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. “They're only trying to make you strong.”_

 _“Why does it have to hurt?” Jesimiel looked up at him, his eyes dark and sad._

 _“I admit,” He said, his tone awkwardly kind. “I do not much like their methods.”_

“Janos!” A hand closed around his arm and he was gone, suddenly, back on the beach, his legs soaked and numb, as he shivered, his teeth chattering. “Have you lost your mind?” It was Azazel, of course. Only he would follow Janos out into a storm, out into the ocean.

Something wrapped around Janos' shoulders. It was Azazel's coat, and now Azazel was in just his shirt in the rain, the red of his skin showing through the quickly dampening fabric.

They disappeared together, and appeared in Janos' bedroom, where Azazel took back his jacket. Janos wasted no time getting out of his wet clothes, not even caring that Azazel was just standing there, appraising him.

This was it, he knew. This was the last bit of insanity Azazel would put up with. Now he would tell Janos how it was too much, how this hadn't been what he wanted when he and Janos had fallen into bed together. He wanted someone independent, someone who didn't need him like Janos did. Not someone who had nightmares and kept secrets and argued with him.

“Why are you hiding from me?” It was not what Janos expected, and he had no answer. “You have never been like this with me. Emma, yes. Other people. Never _me_. You have always told me what I have asked of you. What am I doing wrong that you think I cannot be trusted?” He was angry, but not for the reasons Janos had thought. “I want you, want to be here with you, but not like this.”

There it was, and it hurt so much worse when Azazel said it, than when he had thought it.

“Just get out then. I need to shower.” He tried to walk away, but Azazel grabbed him and forced him to face him.

“Don't do this.” Azazel said, his voice suddenly desperate. “Please, I just need to understand.” Janos wrenched himself away.

“If you're going to leave, leave. I don't care.” It was a lie, and it wasn't even a good one. Azazel was angry and frustrated, but not so much he couldn't spot one from Janos.

“Damn it, Janos, if you don't want me, tell me! Don't treat me like this! Don't treat me like I don't know you! We are friends, we have been friends.” He smoothed his hair down, the pomade having come loose in the rain. “I wanted this. I thought if I had this, I would have everything I wanted. But ever since, you keep pulling away from me, hiding things from me. Before, I had everything from you but sex. Now, that is all I have. That's not what I wanted.”

“Azazel,” He was so cold, down to his marrow, and very little of it had to do with the ocean water he'd stood in. The numbness he'd wrapped himself in as a child, the only way he'd had to protect himself from them and their methods, had kept him safe for so long. Azazel, and Emma to an extent, had been the only people who had managed to break through. But now by keeping himself safe, he was hurting Azazel.

“Do you still want me here?” Azazel sounded so helpless, and it broke Janos' heart. “Or are you just doing this because you think this is what I want? Just because we slept together doesn't mean we have to keep sleeping together. We can forget this, can go back to how we were, if that's what you want.”

“Why are you so convinced I don't want you?” Azazel sat down on the bed, rubbing his temple. Janos had rarely seen him like this, distraught and confused. “You don't know, do you? You really don't.”

“I feel like I don't know anything right now.”

“Azazel, how long have we known each other?”

“I don't know. Eight, seven years?” It sounded about right, and Janos nodded in agreement. “Why?”

“If we have known each other for seven years, then I have been in love with you for six and a half years.” Azazel turned to him, eyes wide, and Janos wanted to take the words back, hide in himself where he couldn't be hurt. “Six months after we met, you took me to Spain. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“You took me to Spain because I said I missed being able to speak Spanish, because my English was still not very good. So you took me to Spain for the night. There was a carnival, and everyone was wearing masks. So you hid your tail and pretended you were something else. And no one knew the difference. You bought me this.” He picked up his cigarette case from the table, silver and worn with age. “I didn't ask you to. You just saw me look at it and knew I wanted it.”

“I liked you.” He had been generous with Janos, poor Janos who had never had a friend. Suddenly, there was Azazel, who read books Janos had never read and listened to music Janos had never heard. He was opinionated and loud about those opinions, and he told stories that made Emma and Janos laugh until they cried. He was mischievous, and liked to play jokes on them, only ever in good humor. He drank alcohol that made Janos' eyes water, and he smoked cigarettes rolled in black paper.

That night at the carnival, Azazel had been everything Janos could ever have asked for, and he had been happy, so happy. He had thought only of his friend as being that, until they returned and he realized he wanted more. He wanted to invite Azazel back to his room, wanted to know what Azazel kissed like, how he would touch Janos.

He had been angry with himself for ruining something so important, for refusing to be reasonable.

But over time, the desperation inside settled to a quiet kind of want. His love changed and grew over the years, into something strong and real, but it never once wavered. He found other men, men who gave him satisfaction for a night, but they were never Azazel, and he never once considered letting any of them ever even know his real name.

And now here they were.

“You didn't love me. I knew that.” Janos confessed. “So I never said anything.”

Azazel laughed, a little, and his tail wrapped around Janos' arm, bringing him close. Janos was down to his underwear and his shirt, but Azazel's slow and careful fingers started to undo the buttons on the former, baring Janos' stomach to him.

“Do you remember the first time we argued about religion?” Janos thought back, over the many times they had fought over the subject, but couldn't pick out the first time exactly. He shook his head, as his arms came to rest around Azazel's neck. “We were in France. At that church.” Now Janos remembered the stone church, in Nice. It had been force of habit to dab his fingers in the holy water and cross himself, head bowed to the Blessed Virgin and her Son.

Azazel had chuckled, and lit a cigarette.

“I nearly punched you.” He mused fondly, and like he had then, Azazel laughed. “Why?”

“It was after that. That was when I realized I wanted you. You were so angry with me, so unafraid.” He ran his fingers through Janos' hair, something that was quickly becoming a habit for him, Janos noticed.

“I have never been afraid of you.” Janos scoffed.

“I know.” Azazel said it quietly, reverently. The tone made Janos look away in embarrassment, his joke suddenly not a joke. “You will never have a reason to fear me. Never.”

“Azazel-”

“I love you. Do you understand that?” His eyes were burning into Janos, and he couldn't meet them, couldn't take Azazel's intensity. “You own me. Body, and soul, if you like.” He leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of Janos' stomach, his declaration of devotion still ringing through Janos' head, consuming him.

“Why?” He asked, overwhelmed.

“Because you are you.” Again, he pressed his lips to Janos' stomach, the gesture almost worshipful.

“Move,” He directed, pushing at Azazel's shoulders. Azazel obeyed, sliding back, and Janos climbed into the bed, putting his back to the headboard and pulling the covers over his freezing body. Azazel followed his movements, and when Janos had settled, he put his head down on Janos' lap, as though he couldn't bear for them to be parted right now. Janos didn't blame him.

For a time, they were quiet and still, Azazel using his tail to get his shoes off at some point. Janos stroked his hair mindlessly, lost in thought, and at one point, it occurred to him that Angel must have already gone to the store, without him. He hoped she remembered the apples.

“I don't like to think about my brothers.” He said, his voice low, but still too loud to his ears. “I don't like to think about that time at all.”

Azazel said nothing, but his tail came up and wound around the wrist of the hand in his hair reassuringly.

“I was the youngest. And the last to manifest. It took me many years to gain control.” He swallowed, and forced the next part out, determined to finish what he had started. “My father believed that anger was the only way to make abilities like mine work. So when I showed my powers, my father would take me out into the garden, every day, and he would have my brothers beat me. Nothing was ever too far.” He bit his lip, and he must have tensed, because Azazel's tail tightened. “Joseph broke my leg. My father said it was my own fault for not defending myself. And Joash,” Again, he paused, afraid to admit it to Azazel. “Joash liked it. And sometimes he would keep my ability away from me, just so he could keep tormenting me. Joesph knew what he was doing. And he participated.”

He could still remember his frustration, the wind just beyond his reach as Joash hit him, again and again, while Joseph laughed.

“Father grew ill, and died when I was twelve. Many people died that winter. _Influenza_ , the Americans called it. That is not the Spanish word, and I had never heard it before. I was ill, as were my brothers, but we recovered. After that, Joseph was in charge. I never knew another day of peace. Every day was the same. Jesimiel, or Josiah, or me, whoever had angered them that day, or whoever they felt needed reminding, would be taken outside. They said they were teaching us to use our abilities, but I never believed it. After a time, Josiah became one of them. Jesimiel just went away, into his own head. He doesn't care about anything, anymore.

“When I was nineteen, I escaped them. Joash can repress abilities, but not completely. And he can be overcome, with practice. I had plenty. He was going to break my fingers again. They liked doing that, since that is how I keep a fine control on my power. I was not going to let them. Josiah has strength. That is his ability. I threw him off of me, into Joash. I ran. And I never went back.” It all sounded so much worse when said aloud, and he wanted to take it all back, so that Azazel never had to know about this, his greatest weakness.

“And now Lehnsherr wants you to go back to them.”

“They have children. Mutant children. And they are hurting them.” He sighed. “I don't see where my choice is.”

“I could rip out their intestines. There is a choice.”

Janos almost laughed, or sobbed, he couldn't tell, and cupped Azazel's head in his hands, leaning over so they could kiss upside down.

“I am serious.”

“I know.” He kissed him again. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

Janos played the adagio again, determined to perfect it. It was a good piece, meant as a solo, one of the many Azazel had found for him. Janos was honestly shocked at that, that Azazel had known what to procure for him at all. He wasn't classically educated, as far as Janos knew, unable to even read sheet music. 

“That's pretty.” 

He glanced up without stopping, to see Angel standing in the doorway to the big room, looking unsure. He jerked his head to the side, letting her know she wasn't intruding, and she walked in, albeit cautiously, like he might change his mind. 

She listened while doing a slow walk around the room, looking at the faded engravings on the baseboards, the old silk wallpaper, and the great glass side. It curved outwards in a semi-circle, so that when you were within it, you had glass on three sides. Janos liked it. 

Her heels were quiet on the old hardwood, and he watched as she pressed her palm to the glass, despite how cold it had to be. 

He finished and set it aside, figuring she had come in for a reason. 

“Why are you and Emma fighting?” He asked, in Spanish. Angel spoke it with an odd mix of an American accent and a Salvadorian one, but he understood her well enough. “I thought you were getting along.” 

“We were. Until the Raven thing.”

“Raven?” He asked, confused. 

“Mystique.” She said, coming out of the glass and into the warmer part of the room. “Her real name is Raven.” Janos shrugged, not much caring one way or the other. “I was thinking about something the other day. I didn't even realize I was thinking about it. And Emma picked up on it. Now she's mad at me.” 

“What were you thinking about?” Angel shifted uncomfortably, chewing on a piece of her hair. “That bad?” She shrugged, and nodded. “With Emma, best thing you can do is just wait for it to blow over. She doesn't hold a grudge long, most of the time. Somebody else will make her angry soon, and she'll need someone to rant to.” He reassured. “Likely it will be Azazel. He makes her angry all the time.” 

“Why?” 

Janos shrugged. “They've never gotten along. Azazel refuses to be obedient, and she refuses to admit he won't listen to her.” 

“Hm. Sounds like her.” Angel walked over to one of the paintings resting against the wall, and lifted the sheet covering it. It was a good piece, an oil painting. Some woman, standing by a garden wall. “Who painted this?” 

“It's probably a commissioned piece.” She frowned at him, so he elaborated. “The subject, she was probably the lady of this house, or maybe a daughter. The family probably hired someone to take her portrait. Or it was done by a member of the family. A lady, likely. Sons don't learn to paint.” 

“Can you paint?” She asked, tipping her head to the side as she studied it. He shook his head.

“Watercolors, a little. But that is oil. I never learned that.” 

“I wish someone had taught me that stuff when I was little. Maybe I could have been a painter instead of a stripper.” 

“There's not much money in it anymore.” Janos told her. “Sorry to disappoint you.” Angel nodded, and dropped the sheet before turning back to him.

“You and Azazel,” She started, and bit her lip. “You share a bedroom now, don't you?” 

“Angel,”

“I kind of thought you might be, you know, like that. But I didn't know he was too.” Janos wasn't sure how to answer her, because he wasn't even sure Azazel was like that at all. He didn't like anybody very much, in Janos' experience. He liked Janos, and Emma on some days, and a few friends that Janos had met once or twice. That was about it. “At least, I didn't until he got you that.” She nodded at the cello. “He thought he was being sneaky. Didn't notice me.” Janos didn't point out how unlikely that was out of respect for her feelings. She probably wouldn't like knowing that it wasn't that Azazel didn't know she was there, it was more likely he just didn't care. “And I remembered you saying you played.”

“He was being kind.” Janos said, with a shrug. “Does it bother you?”

“A little. It's not about you being like that, it's just, him, you know? He scares me pretty badly.” Angel was looking at the far wall now, where there was a water-damaged landscape hanging still, the left upper corner a bloom of mold over a blue sky. It was less well-done than the portrait, and Janos figured that was why it had been left unprotected. “He just seems like a really violent man.”

“He's not like that with me.” Janos defended, feeling his hackles rise. “He would never hurt me.”

Angel just smiled, in a sad sort of way. “Yeah, they always say that.”

“Angel,” His voice was sharp now, and it made her look at him. “Azazel was my friend, for years. And he has never hurt me. He never will. Don't project your problems onto me.” It was nastier than he intended, and it made her recoil. He felt guilty at the sight of her scrunching into herself, as he reminded himself of how short Emma, her only real friend here, had been with her lately. It would do no one any good to keep lashing out at her for being mistaken. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, in a small voice. “I was only...sorry.” 

“No, I shouldn't have put it like that. It's fine.” She didn't look like she believed him, but she nodded all the same, and didn't leave. He really did want to be friends with her, and he realized he needed to reassure her. She was frightened, badly so, and not just of Azazel. Something was bothering her. “Angel, no one here is going to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that.” She walked over to the old, damaged painting, studying it. “I've been with men like Azazel, Janos. I just think you're asking for it, is all.” 

“You don't know him like I do.” Janos refuted, but something in her words sank down and took hold. He could say he knew Azazel until he was blue in the face, because it was true, but that didn't mean he liked everything he knew. And Angel wasn't wrong. Azazel had a side of him that Janos didn't much like, an angry, violent one. 

But he was never like that with Janos. And he'd promised. He had.

“Right.” Angel replied, her eyes on the painting, but far away. “What does Emma like?”

Janos shrugged, putting his music things away for the day. He wanted to go watch Azazel train for a bit, and maybe steal some of his attention.

“Attention, mostly. Emma likes to be treated like a queen.” Angel nodded, and when he walked out, she walked with him, following on his heels. “Something else?” 

“Did Emma...did she love Shaw?” That stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to face her, frowning in confusion.

“I think you should ask her that. I don't know.” That was a lie, he did know, but it was complicated, and far too personal for Emma for Janos to be sharing with Angel, without Emma's permission. “Why are you asking?”

“I just...” She trailed off, and didn't finish, just rubbed her arm a little, looking away from him. “I need to know, is all.”

“Ask Emma.” Janos told her, with a shrug. 

“Janos?” Impatient to be gone, he turned with a bit of a huff, and she noticed, biting her lip. “Never mind, sorry.” 

Frustrated, he shrugged and walked away from her, leaving her alone in the hallway, staring off into space. She was lonely, he knew that, and maybe some of that was his fault. He had tried to be welcoming with her, tried to be friends, but he had been caught up in Azazel too. It had been too often he had ignored her and Mystique in favor of spending more hours hiding in his room, wrapped in Azazel's arms. It was selfish, and if he didn't try to make them feel like they belonged, they were going to have problems with their loyalties. He couldn't even remember having a conversation with Mystique. Had he really been that self-involved?

And Emma, Emma had probably needed him these past weeks, while he had been off ignoring her. He hadn't felt her familiar presence since Russia, which meant she'd deliberately been staying out. She had to have felt what was going on in her peripheral, and given them privacy.

Emma was his truest friend, besides Azazel, and though he loved Azazel with everything he was, he had a connection with her that he lacked with Azazel. It wasn't a bad thing, really, because he and Azazel would tire of each other quickly if they were exactly alike, but his conversations with her were entirely different in tone and subject. Emma liked many of the same things he did, and could speak on the subjects knowledgeably. 

And she had to have been in pain these past few weeks, mourning Shaw, and whatever scraps of a relationship they'd had left. Despite their careful plans, Emma had still cared for Shaw on some level. She would have missed him greatly after they'd enacted what they had to do. Erik had only sped things up a bit, beating them to the punch. 

He wondered if Emma still wanted what they had planned, in the early morning hours while Shaw slept. 

He was ashamed he hadn't thought to ask. 

He needed to go to her, tonight, and apologize for being a bad friend to her. He would listen to whatever she had to say, and if she was angry with him for his selfishness, he would take it. She deserved anger. 

In his room, he grabbed a blanket, a large thick one for outside use, another to wrap around himself, and the basket with his art supplies. Then he ventured outside, far out into the trees where Azazel trained, away from the eyes of the house. He had never minded when Janos observed, and indeed, in retrospect Azazel had likely been showing off for him, but other people, like Emma and Shaw, only annoyed him. 

He set up, feeling Azazel's eyes on him, and opened his sketchpad to the first blank page. It had been a present from Azazel, this one left on the dresser one morning with a new box of pencils. Janos had been pleased at the thoughtfulness, that Azazel had noticed him running out of paper, and his pencils getting small. That he thought of Janos like that made his heart warm, and the smile on his face now was impossible to fight. 

Azazel's supplies for his swords were resting on a tree stump, the swords themselves in Azazel's practiced hands. The supplies made for an interesting composition though, so Janos drew them, the sunlight reflecting off the oil he used on them in a pretty way.

“Bottles are more interesting than me, my darling?” Oh, he was never going to get used to Azazel's use of those words, the way his tongue rolled over the 'r', the way he looked at Janos when he said it.

He looked up at Azazel, shirtless, chest shining with sweat, and smirked. 

“Maybe they are.” 

Azazel crouched down beside him, grinning enough to stretch the scar through his eye, and plucked the sketchpad from Janos' hands. He looked at the work with great solemnity, before putting it down beside them and stealing a kiss. 

“The use of color contrast doesn't interest you?” Janos asked airily, and let Azazel push him down on the blanket. 

“This color contrast interests me more,” He said, intertwining their fingers against the blanket. 

It did look nice, Janos thought, their skin together. His fingers were cold, but Azazel's were warm, as was the rest of him. 

“Let me take you back to our bed,” He purred, into Janos' jawline, and Janos stretched under him. 

“No,” Janos protested. 

“Janos, either I take you back to our bed, or I have you right here, outside, and I don't-”

“Yes,” Janos agreed, happy Azazel had come to the idea on his own. “Outside, yes.” 

“Really?” Azazel drew back, raising his eyebrows. Janos secured his grip on Azazel and tugged him back down. 

“Yes, really. I like sex outside.” That was the wrong thing to say, he realized a half-second too late, as Azazel really pulled back now. He had a jealous streak a mile wide, and mention of past lovers had not gone over well. Janos sat up on his elbows, sighing. “Azazel, don't be like that. You know you're not my first. I'm not yours either.” 

“I know. I just hate the thought of another man touching you,” His tail crept around and slide up Janos' arm, over his shoulder, and to his face. Janos turned and kissed the blade of it, the feel like leather under his lips. 

Azazel's face was some mix of pain and longing that Janos wasn't sure how to react to. He was cold after having Azazel's furnace of a body pressed to him, and he wanted him back, wanted them to be curled in the blanket he'd brought specifically in hopes of this, half-undressed and wrapped up in each other. 

“You are the only one, you know. Who doesn't cringe at it.” 

“Why would I cringe at you?” He emphasized the last word, curious as to how Azazel still did not understand that Janos was not merely tolerating his face, that he liked how Azazel looked, that he loved every part of Azazel, not just the parts that were convenient. “Azazel, I love you. All of you.” 

The blade of the tail left his face, brushing down his neck and down his chest, down over his belt buckle, until it pressed against the front of his jeans. 

“Azazel,” He gasped, as Azazel came back to him, his tail sliding away to be replaced with Azazel's hand getting the buckle open, the button and fly to follow, so he could get his hand down past Janos' underwear and over his cock. His tail curled over to the tree stump, grabbing something, and Janos saw it was the bottle of oil. Azazel poured some into his hand, then slicked Janos' cock with it, easing the slide.

“I like you like this.” Azazel mused, running his palm down Janos' denim-clad thigh. “When you're not trying to impress anyone.”

“It's cold, and I'm sitting on the ground.” Janos managed, his breath coming in short pants now as his cock hardened under Azazel's fingers. “I am not ruining my trousers, not even for you,” Azazel laughed at that, and pushed Janos down, covering him with his body. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes, but Janos didn't mind at all, as he managed to get Azazel's loose pants down enough to return the favor. 

He rolled his head to the side against the rough blanket, Azazel's mouth descending on his neck, to press kisses that scratched from his beard. Janos hummed with pleasure, as their cocks rubbed together, and he got his hand around the both of them. Azazel let go, so he could brace himself better on his elbows, moving his hips to meet Janos', his tail wrapping around them to help. 

Around him, the air was wet with coming rain, or possibly snow. It was always wet here, he thought. He liked it, liked feeling the water in the air, and Azazel liked the chill. Janos could admit a growing fondness for this cold, so different from the kind he'd grown up with, on mornings when the bedroom was cold, but they were warm, under a mountain of blankets and Azazel's body heat.

Maybe he and Emma could build snowmen again, and Angel could come help. That had been fun, that time in Austria. Azazel had watched with undisguised amusement, and there had been a moment, just a second, when Azazel had looked like he was going to kiss Janos. 

That was last year, he realized, and maybe Azazel had been about to kiss him, out in the snow, the stars overhead. 

A raindrop hit his face, as the heat inside built to something unbearable, his hips moving faster. Azazel grabbed his hands and pinned them both beside his head, interlocking their fingers as his tail let go to twist in the air above them. Just moving against each other was enough at this point, and Janos threw his head back as he moaned, his release a relief. Azazel only took another moment, warm and wet on Janos' shirt.

They laid together on the blanket, Azazel's warm weight on Janos, but more drops fell, and they disappeared. 

Azazel left Janos in the bed to discard his dirtied shirt, jeans, and shoes, disappearing, then reappearing with first the art supplies, then the blankets, and finally his things. He eyed Janos and strolled over, grabbing him by the hips to lay him flat so he could tug Janos' underwear off and drop it beside the bed, getting off his own trousers and shoes before crawling in with him.

They hadn't made the bed that morning, and the blankets were still a pile at the foot of the bed. Azazel pulled them up with his tail, as he pressed kisses to Janos' breastbone. 

“I am still waiting to get used to this. But every time I look at you, I want to touch,” He demonstrated by running his hands down Janos' sides. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janos replied, meaning it. “But not again, not yet. Just stay here with me.” Azazel nodded, and he was asleep before long, the training and the sex meaning he was ready for an afternoon nap. He normally slept in the afternoon, rising as early as he did, at dawn, to train and practice. He would spend hours outside, every morning, until the sun rose high in the sky. Then he always came in for lunch and a nap. The evening was devoted to work, whatever Lehnsherr wanted.

And the nights were Janos', when he and Azazel could just be with each other. 

Right now, he could steal a few hours though, could lay some claim on him. It wasn't like he was needed for anything right this minute. 

He slept maybe an hour before he felt Emma in his mind, calling him. Reluctantly, he crawled out of the covers and pulled his underwear and jeans back on, grabbing a shirt without looking, and brushing his fingers through his hair. He didn't bother with shoes, figuring Emma could deal with it. She'd seen him in worse. 

He found her in what had probably been the house's library, to judge by the shelves, but was now sitting empty. It had a grand desk though, and that was where Lehnsherr stood, with Emma and Angel flanking him. Mystique was sitting off to the side, looking a bit lost, as she tended to in these situations. 

“I did not realize this was group meeting. I could have gotten Azazel.” 

“Well, I didn't want to put you out of your way,” Emma said, with a smirk. “Two inches is a long way to go.” He smiled at her, throwing a playful brush of wind across her dress, while Angel bit back an embarrassed giggle. Mystique had turned an odd purple color. She was blushing, he realized. 

Lehnsherr only raised his eyebrows. 

“Emma tells me this is when Azazel sleeps, and we don't need him right now.” Janos knew this technique, knew it well. Shaw had used it often, this pretense at consideration. Lehnsherr was more difficult to read than Shaw had ever been though. Janos knew how to handle Shaw, how to smile and simper so that Shaw was appeased, and Shaw's softer emotions had always felt like an act. He never cared enough to make it seem genuine. 

Lehnsherr, on the other hand, in his cold, almost awkward way, had a sincerity to the things he said. It made Janos all the more wary of him, ready to fight at a moment's notice. Though he had to wonder just how well he could fight off Lehnsherr before Azazel could get them out. Emma would save him, if she could, but Janos suspected some things about Lehnsherr, and telepaths. All that time spent with one, he had to have learned a few defensive tricks. 

“You are of course, welcome to fill him in later.” Lehnsherr continued, with a smile that showed his teeth. Janos wondered now if he actually meant to look intimidating, or if it was just instinct. “I've managed to make contact with Joseph Quested.” 

Janos raked a hand through his hair, frustrated, and stepped forward to the desk. There was a map of Mexico on it, a pin pressed into a shore side city with a large circle drawn around it. 

“We grew up here.” He said, pointing to a smaller town, twenty miles south. “But we went to that city often. After our father's death, Joseph would spend a week or so there at least once a month. If Joseph is anywhere, it's there.” 

“And Joash?” Janos swallowed anxiously, but took a pencil off of the desk and drew a much smaller circle around the city. 

“Joash will never be out of a three mile range of Joseph. That's his absolute limit. You'll start to feel him, when you get within that range. He can only repress ah, Emma, what is the word?” 

“Akinetic.” Emma supplied, studying the map.

“Yes. He cannot repress physical abilities, like Angel's, or Mystique's, or Emma, when you switch. As long as it is a part of your physical body, it will stay. But me, Lehnsherr, your telepathy, Azazel's disappearing, those things we would not have.”

“Unless Joash is dead.” Lehnsherr theorized, tracing his fingers around the city. He likely wasn't even thinking of what he'd said, of how it made a terrible thrill in Janos' heart. For Joash to be dead, forever gone from his life. To have them all dead, dead and gone. Lehnsherr kept talking, oblivious to Janos' frantic thoughts. “What about Josiah and Jesimiel?” 

“Josiah and Jesimiel will be guarding wherever they are living, unless Joseph needs Jesimiel to show off for someone.” Jesimiel's ability, so much like Janos', had never failed to convince people unmoved by Joseph's own. Joseph had never minded, not when he had a more impressive brother that obeyed his every command. 

“How much trouble will they be?” Lehnsherr asked, standing up straight, his arms crossed. 

“Josiah is brutal, but arrogant. He's not indestructible. Emma, in her other form, could beat him.” Emma raised her eyebrows at him, sending a quick burst of _-You cannot be serious. Do I look like some brawler?-_ Even her thoughts managed to sound appalled. 

_-Trust me, you'll want to get your hands dirty for him.-_

She sneered, clearly disbelieving, and Janos rolled his eyes.

Lehnsherr's hand slamming down on the desk snapped them out of their conversation. The predator's smile was back, his eyes hard and glittering, as he stared them both down.

“What did I tell you about having private conversations around me?”

Emma swallowed and looked away, her shoulders drooping a little. Janos frowned at the sight and returned Lehnsherr's hard look with one of his own. 

“Not everything is about you, Lehnsherr. Emma and I have always spoken like that. I didn't speak English when Shaw recruited me.” Lehnsherr appeared unmoved, holding Janos' gaze, a hard feat. “Do not think you can just come in here and start ordering us around like this. We chose to stay, Lehnsherr, and we can choose to leave. And then what would your Brotherhood be? You, and her.” He jerked his head towards Mystique. “You would never find another mutant without Emma to help, and you need Azazel to take you to them.” 

“And what do I need you for, Riptide? I speak Spanish, and my ability is enough for my purposes.” He clearly thought he had Janos there, but Emma told him the answer before Janos could.

“We're a package deal, Lehnsherr. If Janos leaves, I'm going with him.” Her eyes darted over to Angel. “And Angel goes with me. As for Azazel, well, I can tell you for a fact that if Janos leaves, it will be with Azazel. You don't get one without the other.” 

“Is that so?” Lehnsherr asked, and Emma leaned over the desk, pressing her palms down on it, a stance more intimidating than sexy. 

“Yes. That's so.” 

“Angel?” Lehnsherr said, turning to the woman. “Is that true? Would you choose Emma over me?” For a minute, Janos thought Angel was going to say nothing, the way her shoulders curved inward, clearly uncomfortable. But then she straightened, lifting her chin, and looking more like the woman they'd recruited that day in the CIA than the scared little thing she'd been since the beach, she nodded. 

“I'm with them. We're not your toy soldiers. We won't do what you say, just because you say so. Not how it works.” 

Lehnsherr looked around them, then at Mystique, who stood, fists clenched at her side. Janos wanted to roll his eyes at the way she trembled, this silly little girl who thought she wanted to be one of them, wanted to be a revolutionary. She couldn't even stand up for herself, much less their people. 

“I think,” Even her voice shook. “They were just talking.” Emma's eyebrows shot into her hairline, and Angel looked over her shoulder, clear surprise on her face. Janos was actually a little impressed at the show of some kind of spine underneath all of that fear. “And you need to stop treating them like they don't have legitimate concerns, or ideas. This isn't like when you and Charles recruited the others. When we didn't know anything about fighting, or using our abilities. They're not like that. So stop acting like they are.”

Lehnsherr held her golden gaze, as Mystique stood her ground. 

“I'm sorry.” Lehnsherr said, after a moment, in a reluctant sort of way. “I've been...disrespectful, maybe.” He frowned, the words sounding like they physically hurt to say. “You four, Azazel included, you do understand what it is we are doing? What I want to build?”

“We heard the spiel.” Emma said, crossing her arms. “A _Brotherhood_ ,”

“More than that. We, mutants, we are family. Brothers,” He nodded at Janos, “Sisters,” This was directed at the unmoved Emma. “And we are the superior species. We are the next stage of evolution, and this world, this is ours, whether the humans know it or not. Shaw,” He couldn't even say Shaw's name without a twitch in the corner of his mouth. His hatred still ran deep, even with his revenge. “Shaw's plan was idiotic. As I think all three of you know.” Emma shifted uneasily, and Janos, despite his best efforts, must have given something away. “Knew and planned for, maybe?”

Angel was the weak link, and despite the glare from Janos, she gave them away.

“There was a plan then. How? You never even met Emma before Shaw's death.” Angel looked at her feet, and Emma rolled her eyes. 

“I'm a telepath, Lehnsherr. And I have a lot more practice at reaching out than Xavier currently does. I was in touch with Angel the day Shaw brought her back. She was...open...to our plan.”

“Your plan being?”

“We had to factor in you and Xavier, and the plan changed. Shaw was never supposed to live past Cuba, whether you killed him, or Azazel did.” Emma explained, studying her nails. It was a front, but it was a good one, and though Janos could see it for what it was, he didn't think Lehnsherr could. “Did you really think we were going to keep following him? Shaw was a hypocrite, and a psychopath. He tortured and killed our own kind more than once. Did you think you were the only one who ever came after him?” Emma sneered, and Janos had too look away, remembering how Emma came to them. “The war though, that wasn't stupid. If they kill each other-”

“And how many of our kind were on those ships Emma? How many will die in the initial blasts? And how will we feed ourselves with irradiated soil? Without workers to farm? How will we power our homes in a destroyed land? How will our children be educated? You and Shaw suffered from the same problem: short-sightedness. We must keep the humans alive, until we can support ourselves as a species. Don't get me wrong, we will be the masters of the land, but what Shaw planned required numbers I don't think we possess yet. Many of the mutants Charles sensed were only children still. Why do you think we only recruited four people? They were the only four adults we found who would come with us. The others were broken, beaten, and scared. Or they just wanted to hide. We need to build slowly, and steadily, recruiting from this new generation, raising them with the belief that they are not freaks, they are _superior_ , and that they belong somewhere, and that's with us, their family.” 

Lehnsherr's words, his first true speech to them, filled Janos' chest with a kind of hope. Every word Lehnsherr said, he believed, wanted to believe. He wanted to see children grow up with other mutants, and older mutants who would teach them, teach them properly. He didn't ever want to have to see another mutant come to them believing they were wrong, misshapen, when all they were was the next step. They were superior, just like Lehnsherr said. 

“How,” Emma started, before taking in a deep breath and trying again. “How do you propose we enact this plan?” Emma's unhappy childhood flitted through his thoughts, his own memories of long nights between the two of them, over coffee, waiting for Azazel to return before they went to bed, sharing stories of their lives. Emma had been alone, for a long time, before they found her. A lonely princess in a tower, Azazel had described her, with a touch of a sneer. But even Azazel had pitied her, because while Azazel was an outcast from the world at large, he had been raised with a loving parent, and a family of brothers-in-arms. 

Janos had empathized with her, more than anything. Being lonely was a terrible feeling.

He never wanted any more of their children to grow up that way.

The little girls, their faces, raced through his mind. They were alone, at the mercy of his brothers, just like he had been. And in his childish cowardice, he had been willing to leave them there. He was a man now, and his power now dwarfed what he had then. He had control now, perfect and precise. Before, the water had only been in the back of his mind. Now he could combine his abilities, throw typhoons and hurricanes at his enemies. He could decimate buildings with just his twisters, could suck the air from a room with just a tug of his fingers.

And he had let himself be afraid.

“When do you want me to go?” Janos asked, his pride and confidence, lacking for the past few weeks, came back to him as easily as sliding into a suit. 

Lehnsherr met his eyes, and a real smile curved on his face, nothing at all like the one that he'd worn before. 

“We can leave the day after tomorrow. I was hoping Azazel could take us. I did have the idea of him going to Ireland for a recruiting mission, but Emma convinced me a quick escape route would be a better idea. And that Azazel as back-up in case Joash does repress our abilities would be a good precaution. I agree. I admit, my hand-to-hand abilities are only average, and I don't know enough about yours. But Emma assures me Azazel's are beyond compare, and after seeing him train, well,” He shrugged his shoulders. “It's enough to make a man feel like a bit of a slouch, isn't it?” 

“Azazel's trained with swords since he was a boy.” Janos supplied, a rush of possessive pride taking over. “He's without equal.” 

“Is he now?” Lehnsherr asked, and Angel snickered. A bit embarrassed by his own candidness in strange company, he brushed his hair behind his ears, wondering at how Lehnsherr would take it. Emma would just remove the moment if Lehnsherr decided to have a problem with it, but he wanted to see of Lehnsherr meant it, about them being like brothers. “And does that apply in every situation?”

Even with Angel's dark skin, her blush burned clear enough to see, and Emma snickered.

“Yes.” Janos answered, with a smirk, and Lehnsherr chuckled, before bending back over the maps. 

“So, where in this city would your brothers set up headquarters?”

They spent hours in the library, Azazel joining them as the afternoon faded into evening, pointing out strategic places in the city he could take them. As his eyes went over the paper, Janos could see him memorizing it completely. He would always remember how to teleport there after this, Janos knew, and the skill amazed Janos, even after all these years. 

They ended it for dinner after the sun had set, an ordered affair that was delivered by a well-tipped waiter, sent by a restaurant that had needed an exorbitant fee to even consider delivery. With Emma's assistance, the poor boy didn't even remember the drive. 

“You three did this often then?” Lehnsherr asked, as they ate in the kitchen. The house had a dining room, Angel had discovered, but it was dark, and required a lit fire to be comfortable. So the kitchen table it was. 

“All the time. Janos here is the only one who ever learned to cook, and nothing short of highway robbery will get him to do it.” Emma gave him a sneer while she informed Lehnsherr, one which Janos returned gladly.

“I can cook, a little.” Angel offered. “I had a roommate before you and Charles recruited me, and she did most of the cooking. I kind of, uh, left her hanging. She's probably pretty mad at me, actually.” 

“Charles and I ate out constantly.” Mystique sounded almost wistful. “Wonders of a trust fund. I ate so much pub food in his first year at Oxford, and it drove me crazy, because Charles would get trashed, and I couldn't drink. It wasn't fair at all.”

“Why couldn't you?” Angel asked, twisting some noodles around her fork. 

“The drunker I am, the harder it is to hold a form. Even the one I normally used, and I'd been wearing that face for years. Charles was terrified of me slipping. When he was a kid, he used to have nightmares of some Them coming to take me away. He'd project them on the whole household, and then there was one more memory he'd have to modify.”

“Xavier modified memories?” Emma was curious now, Janos could feel. She couldn't modify memories, could only remove, or blur them. 

“Charles made Mother and Father think I was their child. When he was only ten.” That made Emma sit up straight, putting her wine glass down. 

“You and Xavier aren't blood related?” 

Mystique shook her head.

“I was on my own for only a few days, after this happened.” She indicated her skin. “I wasn't born like this, you know. I started changing around, I think, seven. And then one day, I woke up like this. I think. I barely remember. I ran away with nothing, and one night, I snuck into this great big house, because I thought for sure they'd have food. That's how Charles found me.” Her face was definitely fond as she spoke these memories aloud, despite Janos seeing her leave the man on the beach. “He was so happy to realize he wasn't alone. Just like I was.” 

“And Xavier managed to convince a woman you were her flesh and blood? That she had carried you, delivered you?” Emma demanded disbelievingly. “Did it work?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Mystique said, shaking her head. “He was just a kid then, and he didn't do it quite right. He's much better at it now, of course. But she used to get kind of foggy sometimes. And Charles would have to bring her back. It wasn't like it mattered. Mother was never much of a mother. She wasn't cruel or anything, I just don't think she knew what to actually do with children. We hardly saw our step-father, after Charles became stronger, and our step-brother not at all. Neither of them are mutants.”

“He's _better_ at it now?” Emma was obviously concerned over this, and Janos knew why. A telepath who could modify memories so completely, make you believe something as big as having another child, was unheard of. Xavier may not have yet honed his abilities like Emma had, but he obviously had a depth of power that Emma lacked. It was frightening.

“I'm sorry, is that odd?” Mystique finally seemed to realize what she had said, but neither Emma or Janos knew how to explain it

“If what you say is true,” Azazel seemed to have realized it would have to be him. “Then your brother could be the most powerful telepath on the whole planet. And that is not exaggeration. I am speaking truth. I have met many mutants, many, over the course of my life, and a dozen telepaths. None could do anything like that.” 

“There are more mutants like Charles?” She asked, and Azazel chuckled. 

“Telepathy, is not uncommon.” His accent was thick, likely from the vodka he'd been drinking with dinner. “I have even known others who can do what I do. And shapeshifters, like you. I've only met one man who could do what you could do, Lehnsherr.”

Lehnsherr, who had appeared to stop listening when Xavier and telepaths became the subject, suddenly took interest again.

“What man? When was this?” Azazel raised an eyebrow. 

“It was in Poland. The camp.” Janos hated stories that involved the camps. They frightened him, reminded him what future they might face if they didn't win their war. “I was a soldier for Russia, a member of a, uh, special unit. We were sent to find a few certain men in that camp, and kill them. Things got out of hand though, when we saw what they had been doing. My comrades, they decided that it would be a most amusing game if they tied up the soldiers, and gave the prisoners guns. Very funny game, that ended up being.” Lehnsherr was almost on the edge of his seat, piquing all of their curiosity. “Most of the people, they were not afraid of me. They were not afraid of much of anything, at that point. But there was a mutant there, who could bend metal. He bent my gun in two. I was very annoyed with him. When he realized I was Russian though, and that I had been sent to execute his tormenters, he was much more helpful.”

“What was his name?”

Azazel shrugged, taking out a cigarette. 

“We are talking nearly twenty years ago, comrade. I do not remember if he even told me.”

“Did he live? Do you remember that?” Janos' gaze flickered down to Lehnsherr's exposed forearm, and the blue ink marking him there. Janos knew what it meant. Lehnsherr had been in a camp, maybe even the one in Poland Azazel was referring to. Maybe the man was his father, or a brother. 

“I do not know. I am sorry, but the camp burned to the ground that night, almost. Many of the prisoners escaped, and some died. They were all very sickly, by then.” Azazel lit his cigarette, and inhaled. “Was he family of yours?” 

“Maybe.” Lehnsherr took his plate and cleared it, cleaning it quickly and leaving it in the drying rack. He said nothing else, only left them on that sad note. 

“Perhaps I should have said nothing, yes?” Azazel asked, the words mumbled around his cigarette before he took it out, releasing a stream of smoke. 

Emma shrugged, while Mystique looked like she wanted to go after him. She didn't though, and the conversation picked back up, into an argument about some book both Azazel and Emma had read, and of course taken completely different perspectives from. Janos and the other two listened in content amusement as they cleared the table and threw the containers in the bin.

It was only after Emma went to bed that Janos attempted to go speak with her. He hadn't counted on her already having company.

Company being Angel, though they weren't having much of a conversation, from what he could see through the crack in the door. 

He hurried away, fighting back a fit of laughter, until he was safe in his own room, where he could do it until he gasped for breath. 

Azazel, fresh from the shower, toweling his hair off, watched him, waiting patiently for the joke to be shared. After Janos managed to control himself, he told Azazel, who only snorted as he went to the dresser. 

“That's it? You don't see how funny this is?”

“So Emma actually has something between her legs besides ice. At least it explains why she was being such a cunt to Mystique.”

“It does?” Janos let the slur slide, on account of the fact that Azazel often called her worse, and to her face, a gesture Emma was only too happy to return. “How?”

“Emma was jealous, because Angel wanted to spend time with someone else. You know how she is. Like a child. She can't stand to share her toys for even a moment.” Janos smirked and crept up behind Azazel, wrapping his arms around Azazel's shoulders, pressing his cheek to Azazel's back. 

“Why does that sound familiar?” 

“I never pretend to be above it.” Azazel countered, tugging Janos' arms off so he could turn and pull him tightly against his chest. “That I let you out of this bedroom should amaze you.” 

“You don't believe in sharing then?” Janos teased. Azazel scowled at him, pulling him in close and teleporting them across the room, to the bed, their bodies landing together in a muffled thump, the sheets and pillows smelling like them still. 

“Not a chance.” He growled.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Ah, some of you may be wondering about the names chosen. You see, 'Janos' is itself a Hebrew name, an unusual one, so I chose to keep with Hebrew names for all of his brothers, and a 'J' theme, since they have much of the same sound, and some parents like to do things like that. I realized it would be very unusual for Janos to have a Hebrew name, and his siblings to have more traditional Spanish names. Also, this has been edited from its first draft on LJ.


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